Mass Effect: Reunion
by BonkUppercut
Summary: Jack Vulcan and his cousin Kyle Martel were ordinary children... until the batarians arrived. By sheer luck, they're saved by a passing Alliance freighter and escape the Mindoir attack. Sixteen years later, Jack is an Alliance engineer and Kyle is an N7 operative. This unlikely pair is thrust together yet again when the Reapers attack, and together they must survive once more...
1. Prologue

((Author's Note: I'm giving this story a MAJOR revamp! Tell me what you think in the comments!))

_**PROLOGUE**_

_**2170, exact date unknown…**_

"Ma! I'm leaving to go see Cousin Kyle!" Jack Vulcan yelled over his shoulder as he adjusted his brand-new overalls. His outfit had to be just perfect, since Kyle Martel was not only his cousin but also his best friend, and Jack certainly didn't want his best friend seeing him in his ratty farm-boy clothes. His mother's response came so quickly it scared Jack.

"Don't do anything stupid! I don't want that boy maiming you with his biotics! A kid with your brainpower wouldn't want to get killed, would he? And don't be so hyper this time! If I get so much as one call from Kyle's mother saying you two were being rowdy like last time..." his mother's commanding voice echoed from the kitchen, letting the threat hang in the air. Jack chose not to respond right away, as it was clear his mom was in one of her moods. He eyed his reflection in the mirror, his piercing, acid-green eyes contrasting sharply with his pallid skin. The light trickling in through his bedroom window was enough to reveal the glistening rivulets of sweat dripping down his face. It was a hot afternoon on Mindoir, and by some miracle Kyle happened to be free today. With all the sports Kyle played, it was a small wonder he found time to sleep. Jack began rubbing a pale-blue styling gel into his medium-length jet-black hair, slicking it back while letting a tuft hang from the front onto his face. He finally decided not to hesitate any longer in responding to his mother.

"Ma! I'm eight years old! I can take care of myself!" he shouted back, stepping out from the relative darkness of his bedroom into the blinding glare of the common room. His father was sprawled out on one of the couches, tinkering with one of his gadgets, probably one of the VIs that he specialized in fixing. Jack knew better than to disturb him, so he pulled on his worn-out farm boots and started to walk out the door. "I'm leaving now! I'll be back by five!" he called.

"Young man, I do NOT want to see you getting into trouble this time, do I make myself clear?!" his mother demanded, still in the kitchen. Jack allowed himself a grin. He decided not to answer, and as soon as he stepped out into the sunlight, he broke out in a dead run for Kyle's house down the block.

The door to Kyle's house flew open before Jack even reached it, and nine-year-old Kyle burst out, dressed in a biotiball jersey. Upon seeing Jack, his tanned face spread into a smile. He picked Jack up in a bear hug, and didn't let go for what seemed like ages. He finally set him down, and ruffled Jack's hair playfully.

"Hey there, little cuz! How's everything at the farm?" Kyle inquired in a heavy Boston accent. Without giving Jack time to answer, he continued on as if he'd never said anything. "Ah, hell, enough with the small talk! Let's get out and DO something! How about... Oh! I know! Hide-and-seek! You're gonna hide first, got it?" he shouted cheerily. Jack nodded his assent, then bolted as fast as his legs coud carry him toward Kyle's family's greenhouse. Kyle stepped back into his house, closed his eyes and began counting, but he was cut short as his seventeen-year-old brother Charlie slugged him in the shoulder. Kyle rubbed his shoulder gingerly, and stared up at his sneering brother. They shared the same rust-colored hair, but the similarities ended there.

"You still hang out with that dweeb? Come on, man! That husk of a kid probably couldn't even lift an omni-tool!" Charlie scoffed. Kyle cringed in disgust.

"Whoa, whoa, cool it! He's your cousin too, you know!" Kyle looked down at his stopwatch. It was time for him to begin looking for Jack. He put one foot out the door... when he felt his brother's strong hand clamp down on his injured shoulder. "Don't... move.. a muscle." Charlie hissed into his ear. With that, Charlie produced a blade from his omni-tool... and cut himself with a wound so savage that Kyle actually threw up onto himself. Charlie was gushing blood, and he collapsed onto Kyle, staining him with liquid crimson. He was dead almost before he hit the ground. Kyle's head was swimming in a mix of emotions: fear, grief, puzzlement, and more, but he peered outside, and he finally understood what his brother had done.

In the center of town, a conglomerate of ships of batarian design had touched down. Methodically, a mob of batarians spiraled out, using savage hunting rifles and slaughtering everyone they came across. Kyle understood now. Charlie wanted him to play dead! And Charlie... He had chosen his brother's life over his own. Kyle was alive, but at what cost? His thoughtstream was cut short as a batarian stomped his way into the house. Kyle held his breath, hoping, praying for a miracle...

"We got these ones already, you idiot! It's a damn shame, too! These would have been the best slaves this side of Khar'san!" the batarian barked into his two-way radio. It marched out of Kyle's house, huffing in frustration. Kyle sighed a silent sigh of relief. But his world continued to sway before him, a tangle of feelings and emotions and colors playing before his eyes like a movie on fast-forward. Then he passed out, thankful for the void of unconsciousness stealing him away from this nightmare.

_Meanwhile..._

Jack glanced around. Where was Kyle, dammit? These four-eyed things that passed for batarians had probably murdered him by now... Jack clobbered himself in the forehead. _How dare you think that! Kyle would find some way to survive, and now you've got to do the same! _he admonished himself. Subtly, he snuck in through the greenhouse's open door. He peered around, looking for cover. Many exotic trees stood out, but those would make errible cover. Suddenly, beneath his feet, a glowing path sprang to life. _Oh, that's right! The Martels have a greenhouse VI! Thank God!_ Jack remembered. He was careful to follow the trail, and found the observation chamber made of one-way glass. The door was open, and it locked electronically from the inside. Jack hurried in, and the VI locked the door behind him. _A machine just saved my life! Hooray for machines! _Jack thought with a sort of appreciation. He peered out the window, so as to bear witness to the massacre of the town. The batarians were stacking the dead bodies outside haphazardly, and Jack knew every single one of them...

...and then he noticed survivors. Strong, fit men and women, yanked from their homes and forced to kneel on the bloodstained ground. Jack watched as Talitha, the athletic champion of his school who wasn't much older than he was, was forcefully yanked from her hiding place and slammed on the ground with the rest of the town's survivors. Abruptly, an adnormaly strong batarian came into visibility, bearing no less than four dead colonists. As it happened, those colonists happened to be none other than Mr. and Mrs. Martel, who were shopping at the grocery store, and Jack's own parents. Unable to control his raw emotion, he threw up all over the floor, but he couldn't cry. Not yet. Maybe this was all a dream, and he'd wake up and Kyle would be out playing football and Dad would be on another business trip and Mom would be picking the crops ... He was positive he was going to be the next causualty, just another statistic in the history books, but strangely enough, the invaders stopped. They scanned the immediate area, and finding nothing, the batarians whipped out sharp omin-blades and cut large but shallow gashes, straight through the forehead, into each of the survivor's heads, causing severe blood loss. The screams of pain that followed would haunt Jack for years afterward.

But the worst was just beginning. A sinister-looking device that looked like it came straight from his father's VI repair shop was inserted deep into each wound, and then a gel-like substance that made the wounds heal at an ungodly speed was applied. In a matter of seconds, the wounds were closed, and aside from the dried blood, all the survivors looked dazed but fine. The "four-eyed menaces", satisfied with their handiwork, began expertly tossing grenades that shot concentrated blasts of fire into nearby buildings to finish what they had started, leaving no one untouched by their trail of destruction. Nearly paralyzed with fear, Jack could do nothing but watch as everything around him, his home, his life, slowly collapsed in columns of flame. Jack shakily scanned both the survivors and the dead, he didn't see Kyle anywhere. _No, Kyle! You can't die! Oh, please be okay, Kyle... _

Soon, the devices became apparent. Using a remote control from their omni-tools, the batarians triggered awkward yet systematic movements in each survivor. Like the geth that Jack had heard about in bedtime stories, these unwilling servants acted as one cohesive unit, forced to cater to the every will of the four-eyed invaders. And Jack couldn't do a thing about it. _I want to see them burn, just like we did,_ Jack thought bitterly. And that's when the darkness of unconsciousness welcomed him with open arms.

_Hours after the initial batarian contact, a lone Systems Alliance_ _freighter, the SSV Einstein, managed to bust the batarian blockade surrounding Mindoir. It only had time to rescue Jack and Kyle before the return fire became too great to remain on-planet. No other ships managed to land until the next day, but it would take six whole years until all the batarians were eliminated and all survivors were rescued. _


	2. Chapter 1

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

_**Sixteen years later, two hours before the Reapers made themselves known to the galaxy…**_

"That's it for today, boys! Shuttle's inbound!" came the jubilant voice of Chief Engineer Cade Vitona. Jack sighed. Most people didn't enjoy working, especially not in space, but Lead Weapons Designer Jack Vulcan was an exception. He had never forgotten how a machine had saved his life sixteen years ago, and he'd maintained a very close relationship to machines since then. He brushed the metal shavings from his prototypes into the trash chute. Wiping the sweat from his brow, casually picked up his latest design, which was a modified version of the Cerberus M-96 Mattock. It had a higher rate of fire, less kickback, and a larger capacity, and the spray of bullets was even more accurate than the original thanks to a trageting VI designed by Jack's late father. It wasn't perfected yet, but it was operational, and even on shore leave he was going to need some form of protection. He tucked it into the large black satchel slung over his shoulder, the took a look at his wristwatch and decided that he'd better hurry up and leave his Arcturus Station office.

As the lights automatically began to dim, Jack peered out the window at the _SSV Starliner_, the luxurious passenger cruiser he was taking. Normally he'd take his own construction ship, the _MCL* Jetstream,_ but his ship just wasn't built for pleasure cruises. At least it was his holiday, he thought to himself as he slowly trudged to the spaceport. It went from Arcturus Station to al the Alliance's major trading ports, but t also provided a transport service to the station's personnel. The tinny, electronic voice of a VI rang out over the intercom. "Flight 937, to Eden Prime, now boarding. I repeat. Flight 937, to Eden Prime, now boarding."

((Author's Note: MCL= Mobile Construction Laboratory))

"Oh crap! That's my flight!" Jack exclaimed, dragging his twin suitcases as fast as he could to the docking bay. Although it ws slow going, he finally reached the entrance to the _Starliner_. The pilot was a young man with limp blond hair and a cheery grin on his face, and his name tag read TREZ. _Pfft. What a total Boy Scout. _Jack thought to himself with a grin. Trez quickly searched Jack's omni-tool for the boarding pass code with a handheld scanner. When nothing showed up, his smile faded slightly.

"Excuse me, sir," Trez said in a casual Brooklyn accent, keeping up his positive demeanor, "you're not authorized to board." Jack was puzzled. Then it hit him. He quickly activated the omni-fabricator (copyright and trademark, Jack Vulcan) on his left hand and showed that to Trez. "Two omni-tools? That's a new one…" remarked Trez, but he scanned the fabricator anyway. Sure enough, the scanner lit up green and he waved Jack in. Upon arriving in the first-class section, Jack flopped down into a large plush seat. The artificial gravity was quite comfortable, and the ship's plush decor was a definite improvement over Arcturus Station's utilitarian design. Now, the benefits of taking a passenger line rather than th _Jetstream_ were starting to seem pretty obvious. Jack stared at the ceiling, hoping his vacation to Eden Prime would be at least mildly exciting. Little did he know he'd get more than he bargained for...


	3. Chapter 2

**_CHAPTER TWO_**

"Thirty seconds 'til takeoff, guys! Hang on to your hats!" rang the casual voice of Trez over the passenger ship's intercom. Jack yawned and stared outside at the metallic shine of the stars. _Wait a second,_ he thought, _stars aren't metallic! _Upon closer inspection, Jack discovered that right outside the station, there was a humongous grey starship, roughly shaped like a squid, that Jack had never seen before. His curiosity got the best of him and he snapped a photo with his omni-tool. He then began browsing the extranet for any matches to that design. Jack's face turned stark white as the results came up. The first suggestion wasn't an extranet article at all. It was one of his private extranet messages. It was an emergency Alliance news broadcast to all military personnel, telling everyone to flee the Sol system due to machine invaders called Reapers. _And here I thought I'd never meet a machine I didn't like. __Why haven't I heard of these before? _he wondered in the back of his mind. The disturbing part was, included in the article was a picture of a Reaper destroying Vancouver, and the grey metallic shine of the Reaper matched almost exactly with the starship outside.

Jack hastily strode to the cockpit to confirm his suspicions. He rudely shoved his omni-tool's screen, with the emergency broadcast plastered onto it, into Trez's face. Jack thrust his finger towards the mysterious ship, which was clearly visible through the cockpit view screen.

"Do these ships look alike to you?" Jack urgently demanded, sounding a lot more brave than he felt. "Because if they do, we're screwed. Please, _please_ tell me they don't look alike."

Trez's face flushed strawberry red, glistening with beads of sweat. His smile still hadn't faltered, but he obviously wasn't expecting this delay. He hesitantly opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by a horrific metallic growl echoing from outside the ship. It rattled Jack to his core, and it was emanating from the grey starship. Unexpectedly, a shining red beam of light shot from the ship and blasted a gaping hole in Arcturus Station, creating a vacuum of air that would have no doubt left Jack dead if he'd been aboard still. Luckily, it hit the side away from the docking bay in which the _Starliner _was docked. Unfortunately, the thousands who died nearly instantly due to the absolute lack of air were most definitely _not_ in the docking bay. There was no longer any question about it. Arcturus Station was under Reaper attack.

A blinding blast suddenly illuminated the star-studded horizon and Jack flinched, expecting another laser blast, but it was actually the nearby mass relay, which connected to the Charon Relay in the Sol system, being used. A modest-sized Systems Alliance frigate was thrust into the Arcturus Stream, and it wasted no time in ejecting no more than four escape pods. One, however, was grazed by another Reaper laser, which shredded Arcturus Station even worse. The pod spiraled out of control and briefly, Jack could see the panicked faces of the troops within. But only one managed to truly catch his eye: a young man in an N7 marine uniform with ragged copper hair and two different-colored, cloudy eyes: one blue, one violet. There was no doubt about it; aboard the plummeting escape pod was his long-lost cousin Kyle Martel.


	4. Chapter 3

**_CHAPTER THREE_**

Jack wasn't prone to rash decisions, but this one had to be made. Jack grabbed Trez by the shoulder and spoke through gritted teeth, "Follow… that… pod. Understand?!" Without waiting for an answer, he snatched the passenger comm out of Trez's trembling hands. "Hang on, everyone! This is gonna get MESSY!" he declared into it, hearing his voice echoing throughout the fuselage. He quickly disconnected the comm and, upon seeing Trez paralyzed with shock, he slugged him in the shoulder, "What are you DOING, pilot? Get this thing moving or that pod is toast!" To prove his point, he looked outside and saw the malfunctioning pod plummeting toward Benning, leaving a trail of sparks behind it. Shakily, Trez shoved the throttle full blast, jerking the ship forward so fast that Jack's face was smashed against the glass of the cockpit. Rocketing toward the pod at nearly FTL speeds, Jack pried his face off the windshield and peered out the side window just in time to watch Arcturus Station, his second home, erupt into a shower of flames and explode.

The collective gasps from the other few passengers indicated they had seen it too. Luckily, nobody went catatonic, or the situation would have escalated quite quickly. One or two of them fainted straightaway. The rest huddled under their seats, clearly unsure of what to do. That was the issue. Now that the Reapers were here, was there ANYONE who wasn't unsure of what to do? Jack was no politician, but he had a nasty feeling in his gut that unless the Council was planning on talking the Reapers to death, the galaxy was standing less of a chance with every passing minute.

"Uh, pal? With the black hair and the two omni-tools? You might wanna come an' see this…" Trez beckoned Jack over to the cockpit windshield. Jack watched, reeling with shock, as the escape pod continued its erratic descent toward Benning's surface. It was creeping ever closer to its imminent crash. Jack, for lack of a better solution, slugged Trez in the arm.

"Then get going, idiot! I'm not planning on sitting around while you let innocent people die!" Jack yelled. Trez blinked with uncertainty.

"But… I don't think the ship can take it! We're putting too much stress on 'er system!" Trez hollered back. In frustration, Jack stomped his foot with such an echoing sound that the passengers in the cabin collectively cringed.

"I don't care! That's my cousin in there, and whether you like it or not, we're saving him! Now move it, or you're going to find out what I do when persuasion isn't an option!"

"Uh… Um… Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" Trez clutched the throttle and shoved it as far as it could go, straight into FTL speeds, and the gap between the pod and the passenger liner began closing up nicely. Of course, the sudden acceleration knocked Jack's face into the windshield for the second time, and this time it refused to come off. The stars in the distance turned into streaks across the sky, and a glimmer of hope began to return to Jack. Suddenly, Trez's face turned whiter than a Scorpion pistol. "Your cousin's pod! It's fallin' apart!" Trez shouted, panicking and hitting buttons in a desperate attempt to do something. But Trez, as it turns out, was absolutely right. The ship shuddered once and abrubtly stopped, flinging Jack backward into the ship's hull. There was nothing left they could do for Kyle and his fellow troops.

Jack braced himself to watch Kyle die. Instead, a strong biotic field erupted around the pod, holding it together. Jack silently cheered, keeping his fingers crossed for another miracle. But that type of luck could never last, and Jack figured that out firsthand when he saw the escape pod violently slam into Benning's surface.


End file.
